


but for the grace of

by betony



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 18:54:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betony/pseuds/betony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh,” the Queen of Eddis said, more gently than she had intended, “it’s you, Eugenides.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	but for the grace of

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Etnoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etnoe/gifts).



> _Her chin up, Attolia said: "You [Eddis] think me too harsh. You inherited your throne free and clear."--_ A Conspiracy of Kings, Greenwillow Books, p. 193-4.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _[Eugenides said:] "...My cousin inherited her throne on the stength of my father's right arm. He swore that she, and no one else, would be crowned."--_ A Conspiracy of Kings, Greenwillow Books, p. 195.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Warning for offscreen minor character death.

The guards were not gentle with the thief when they brought him before the queen. Instead they chained his feet together so he had to be dragged along like a puppet, and when they reached the throne room, they threw him forward so he sprawled at her feet. 

The queen, who had been sitting at a game of chess with her favorite attendant, did not so much as blink. She looked down at the man—boy, really, by rights—dispassionately and asked: “He is alive?” 

“Barely,” said one of the guards and snickered. He was a distant relative of the queen, and that was the only reason he dared show such self-assurance before her. That and the fact that the subject of their discussion being _this_ prisoner, in particular, would surely ensure the queen was in as forgiving a mood as possible. 

The queen, however, frowned. “Good. “I would have it remain that way. And do dismiss yourself from service, cousin. We are not barbarians in this country, no matter what our neighbors might claim.” 

The guardsman swallowed. On the floor, the thief’s shoulders began to tremble; unhappily, the reprimanded guardsman guessed it was probably due to suppressed mirth or sly satisfaction. It _would_ be just like him to laugh. 

The queen said: “Leave us.” 

Her subjects obeyed. When there was none in the room but queen and thief, she slipped from her chair to kneel beside the prostrate thief and help him to his feet. A kind gesture, to be sure; but more importantly one that meant she could see his face and identify the expression that had prompted his shaking: undiluted fear. 

It reminded her forcibly of her childhood, the many times he’d come running to her with exactly that look, with one or more angry relatives following behind. 

“Oh,” the Queen of Eddis said, more gently than she had intended, “it’s you, Eugenides.” 

* * *

Why the late King’s brother, who had been Minister of War, decided in the end to make a bid for the throne instead of supporting his young niece’s claim is one of the great unanswered questions of Eddisian history. Everyone agrees he is a good and honorable man. Everyone can see he must have had an excellent reason for what he did, but excellent reasons are rarely enough in this world. 

No one blames young Eddis for sentencing her uncle to death. It is a well-known fact she attempted to delay it as long as possible, at one point even suggesting exile or house imprisonment to her council. But the Minister of War commands, even in defeat, a sizable number of supporters and admirers, and ultimately her advisors convince her that this was the only way. 

This is known, too, throughout Eddis, if only through rumors: the touching tale of how Eddis visits her uncle on the night before he is to die and weeps before him; how he kisses her forehead as though she were still a girl and absolves her; how he tells her that his one comfort is this—that she is a far more competent ruler than he could have guessed. Had he only known this, he would 

The next morning, he is executed, and the queen goes as still as though she were the one drinking hemlock instead of him. 

Days pass, then weeks. People begin to forget and even to forgive—all except the family of the once-Minister of War, and most of all, his father-in-law, driven half-mad by the loss of both daughter and son-in-law in less than a year. When they find that he and his grandchildren have all left the court, no one is entirely surprised until they learn it’s _Attolia_ he’s gone and offered his services to in exchange for vengeance. 

The young queen sits on her throne, and listens to any news from the north, and if she grows harsher and sadder, her advisors only reflect sadly that this is how the weight of a crown changes its wearer. 

* * *

Three days later the Queen of Attolia crossed the Eddisian border to retrieve her thief. 

When she arrived at the palace, Eddis was there to welcome her, remote and impassive as her mountains. Attolia rode alone, with only a handful of guards and attendants around her. Reports had it than she preferred to be discreet; Eddis suspected she was embarrassed. 

By way of explanation, Attolia said: “I thought to prioritize haste over pomp. After all, the last time you found a foreigner crossing into your country without your consent, you kept them.” She paused. “Please give my best regards to Sounis’s magus. Not to mention his heir.” 

Eddis refused to let herself be ashamed. Sophos and the Magus had initially been arrested when an Eddisian captain had overheard their plans to seek out Hamaithes’s Gift. They had been spectacularly bad plans—they hadn’t even had a clear idea of how to extract the Gift from its hiding place—but enough of a threat to bring them before Eddis. 

When she’d found out that the King of Sounis was missing a nephew, it hadn’t been difficult to put the pieces together. She had the guest quarters assigned to him and the Magus made permanent in what she cannot deny is imprisonment, although Sophos never asked to leave, although she suspected he might have grown to be quite happy here in Eddis. She could see the wistfulness in his eyes when he was reminded of his mother and sisters, and she was keeping him from his rightful throne. It would have to be that way until she could squeeze out yet one more concession from Sounis. That was the only reason, she told herself. 

“Attolia,” she said instead. “Welcome.” 

Later, after the welcoming banquet had concluded and the Attolian delegation had been settled into their rooms, both queens sat in the throne room before the hearth. 

“Ephrata,” Eddis began without preamble, “I want Ephrata in exchange for Eugenides’s freedom.” 

Attolia raised an eyebrow. “You seem quite confident I’ll agree.” 

Eddis let out a bitter bark of laughter. “Why shouldn’t you? If there’s one thing that’s plain to see, it’s that Eugenides is a lucky talisman for any queen who has him in her possession. Why shouldn’t you do anything to have him back?” 

Attolia sighed and went to stand by the window. For a time she did not say anything and then: “Contrary to what you might believe, Helen, this isn’t about Eugenides. Never has it been about him. This was always about us, don’t you see?” 

* * *

Helen walks back from her prison on unsteady legs, watches her uncle’s execution with dry eyes, and dreams only of her coronation when she is able to fall asleep at last. 

In the morning, she calls the Attolian ambassador before her and commands: “When you write to your queen next, give her this message from me: _You were right_.” 

* * *

“When I came to your coronation,” Attolia said, “and whispered in your ear, I told you your court would betray you, that your family could not be trusted, that your claim to the throne would never go unchallenged.” 

Eddis’s mouth twists. She is desperately relieved that Attolia faces away, looking to the north, and cannot see it. “And so it came to pass,” she concedes, “in less than a year. I should have believed you then.” 

“I meant to hurt you. Because you were beloved, and brave, and because you had everything I had ever wanted. I wanted you to doubt and suffer as I had—more, if possible.” 

“You certainly succeeded.” 

Attolia ignored her. “And now that you have, I regret it. Not as Queen—Attolia has been the first to benefit from Eddis’s misfortunes—but as Irene.” 

_Irene._ The name conjured up images of a princess who never smiled, standing stiffly beside her mother, the late Queen of Attolia. The young Helen had never wanted to befriend anyone quite so desperately, and failed so absolutely. 

Irene said: “If even a fraction of your heart regrets not heeding my advice then, listen to me now—“ 

“Your court was full of dissemblers and selfish, grasping men,” Eddis interrupted. “When they sought to take your power, you knew you had the moral high ground. My throne was almost seized by the noblest man I knew, the uncle I loved best, and I had him killed to keep it only because the gods had told me that I alone was to be the last Eddis.” 

“And you had the blessing of the gods upon you, while I had nothing more than never wanting to be consigned to the shadows again,” Attolia snapped back. “And for every man you had put to death, I had at least a dozen more, including the man wedded to me before all eyes of earth and heaven. If I wanted to punish myself for my crimes, I should never stop. How long will you keep at it?” 

“As long as it takes to forgive myself. However did you do it?” 

Attolia laughed mirthlessly. “That was the trick,” she says. “I didn’t.” 

* * *

By the boy Eugenides’s third year in Attolia, Irene only fantasizes about throwing him into her deepest prison and forgetting about him once or twice a week. It should be far more frequent, given the amount of trouble he gets himself into without even trying, but there are times, like now, when he proves himself worth the burden, after all. 

She assumed when the Eddisians sought refuge with her that their only use would be in trading state secrets and being valuable leverage during negotiations with the Queen of Eddis. Instead each and every one have proven useful; some of the women flock about her court and manage to bring about a modicum of civility, while others take to sorting out the economics of impoverished Attolia as fish do to the sea, and at least one of the sons appears to be a genius when it comes to inventing mechanisms. But by far the most valuable assets are the old man and his grandson, both of whom live up to their boasts that not only did they know every one of her secrets, they knew those of her barons, as well. 

Between the machinations of the old Thief of Eddis, and the resourcefulness of his grandson, combined with Relius’s own wisdom, Irene’s throne is secure within a matter of years. No more bodies hang outside her walls as warnings to her barons. She lets herself sip wine without tasting the ghost of coleus leaf on her lips. The stone mask she thought permanently affixed to her face grows just a bit looser. 

And then there are days like this one. 

Irene is still half-bewildered by joy as she rides back to her palace, Eugenides the younger beside her. It had started as a challenge; she made the mistake of mentioning her childhood nurse, and the younger thief probed and nagged until the whole story had come out, of how her nurse disappeared, how Irene sought her out, how Melitta refused to return to her queen's service, claiming that her family would never be safe if she returned to the Attolian palace. 

Eugenides frowned when she finished her tale. “If she wouldn’t come with you, why couldn’t you visit her instead?” 

Irene explained, very carefully, that it was impossible, that she would not be welcome there. But he persisted, telling her she didn’t know that was true, coaxing her into take him to her nurse’s house only once; if Melitta sent them away again, he would never bring up the subject again. 

Now, after an afternoon eating Melitta’s honey and watching her young children chase each other around the cottage, even Irene must admit that he was right. 

“You’re even more beautiful when you’re happy,” Eugenides—Gen—whispers. 

She smiles. Her hair is tied back in two braids for the excursion, and she can feel them coming undone; her headband is back in her bedchamber at the palace, safely locked away. The sun is warm upon her face, but even that isn’t enough to do much for the pallid complexion of the shadow princess. There’s no reason he or anyone should find her beautiful right now. 

Irene scoffs. “Puppy love.” 

Gen shrugs. “Maybe.” He dares to lift his head again, seek out her gaze and meet it. His expression is dogged. “It still has love in the name, though.” 

Imprisonment, Irene decides wearily, is far too good a fate for him. 

“You’re only a boy,” she reminds him. “Be reasonable.” 

Gen snorts. “And you’re not much more than a girl yourself. A queen, maybe, but still a girl.” 

With a certain amount of surprise, Irene realizes he’s right. 

* * *

“What do you intend to do with him, if you take him back?” Eddis asked. “Make him your Thief?” 

“No,” Attolia said firmly. “There has never, nor, gods willing, shall there be a Thief of Attolia. If nothing else, because your cousin makes my barons unhappy enough without having my blessing to rob them blind as well. Eugenides, if ever he consents to take a title in my court, will take quite another one entirely.” 

Her cheeks were only faintly red, but it was enough to remind Eddis that there was only one unclaimed title at the Attolian court, and it was that of King. 

“I see,” she said. The part of her that was still Helen was faintly pleased for her cousin; the rest of her was already calculating what having an Attolis sitting beside his Queen would do to the delicate balance of power along the Peninsula. “And if he should have come to some unfortunate accident in my prison before you could retrieve him, what then?” 

Attolia grinned, and Eddis was forcibly reminded of how the older woman had appeared to her in the early days of her reign. That was the smile a lioness wore before she tore you limb from limb, and then brought the remains home to share with her mate. 

“Then I could be sure you are beyond saving,” she said, “and I would no longer have to worry about hurting Gen’s feelings when I invaded your country and pulled you from your throne for Eddis’s own good.” 

“I don’t need saving,” Helen shot back. “And I have no need for Attolia to decide what is best for Eddis. I have always known what is best for Eddis and done it. No matter what it cost me.” 

“So you have,” Attolia drawled. “Then why should I not find Eugenides safe, sound, and sarcastic in your care?” 

"Because I choose to do you and your court a favor," Eddis said haughtily and, once Attolia had regained her composure, added, much more sincerely: "Thank you." 

* * *

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Eugenides muttered mutinously as he stared up at the fine horse waiting for him in the courtyard. 

Attolia raised an eyebrow. “I noticed some very tractable ponies in the stables. I’m sure Eddis would be happy to loan you one if you asked nicely.” 

“That wouldn’t do much good, I’m afraid," Eddis interrupted before she could think better of it. "He fell off those, too, when he was a child just learning to ride.” 

Eugenides gave her a startled look before turning away as though embarrassed. Attolia hardly even bothered to hide her smile behind her hand. 

“If that’s settled,” she drawled, “perhaps we might set off? We’ll need to make camp by nightfall if I’m to be back by the time I promised Relius--” 

“Oh, well, if it means upsetting _Relius_ —“ 

Eddis moved forward to help Eugenides with his horse but wasn’t disappointed when he shifted away slightly. Some things, she already knew, were unforgiveable. 

But Gen paused before clambering onto his horse to look back at her. “Your court loves you, Helen,” he said, meeting her gaze for the first time. “The guards, the cousins, even some of the barons—I heard them speak of little else but their queen, and how she rode with them, and laughed with them, and kept their lands and home safe for them. You’re—you’re not alone.” 

With that, he swung into the saddle, kicked his horse forward to ride with one of the Attolian guards he’d apparently befriended. Attolia, though, stayed back to lean down from her own mount and squeeze Eddis’s hand. 

“I’ve one last question, “ said Eddis. “Whose idea was it, really, to have Eugenides captured so you would have an excuse to cross into the mountains and speak your mind to me? Yours, or Gen’s?” 

That would not have been the only reason, she knew; Eugenides would have met with at least one spy, reacquainted himself with the architecture of at least some of her palace's secret tunnels. Possibly he could only have been homesick, but she sensed more of Attolia's influence than that. 

Irene laughed. “That, my dear Eddis, I leave to your own discernment.” 

Eddis watched them go until they were only two smudges against the horizon. Then she turned back to her watching court--who loved her, so said Eugenides--despite what she'd done, and let herself smile at them, and went inside. 

Later in the afternoon, she promised herself, she would allow herself to be Helen again; and she would go to Sophos and ask him just how long he meant to stay.

**Author's Note:**

> First off, apologies for maligning the character of the Minister of War, but having him decide against supporting Helen made for the most interesting point of divergence, and arguably the only thing that would make Gen's allegiances change as I needed them to. The Minister is very dear to me, as well, and I apologize again for writing him off so cavalierly.  
> Sout, this was what came to mind when you asked for a story about Eddis and Attolia's early reigns and/or a changing relationship between them and added that you liked AUs . I hope that this is at least in the neighborhood of what you like to read!


End file.
